


The Goldsworth Problem

by eliselove_ly



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Attempted Murder, Classic mob feel, Detectives, Murder, Murder Family, Murder Mystery, Period Piece, Post WWII, Tinsworth but sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 00:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20380597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliselove_ly/pseuds/eliselove_ly
Summary: Tinsley had been snooping in their business for too long, and the family had to do something about it.





	The Goldsworth Problem

Tinsley ran his slender fingers across the starchy paper of the phone book scanning the pages for one name in particular: Goldsworth. The infamous family was wrapped up in yet another scandal of Titanic sized proportions and Detective C.C. Tinsley was determined to not let them get away with it again. 

Elizabeth Short, known in the media as the Black Dahlia, was bisected and found two weeks ago on the fifteenth of January dumped in Leimert Park, Los Angeles. Most people in the general public believed that one Dr. George Hodel was her killer, because of his connections with the victim as well as prior allegations of this sort. This attracted attention from any reporter worth his salt in the Los Angeles county area. The only thing strange about that, other than the obvious murder, was that there were no actual statements from Dr. Hodel, always from one of the Goldsworths.

See, whenever the media would question him about it, a member of the Goldsworth family or someone in their employ would swoop in and answer all of them, thus putting all doubts to bed. This was the highest profile murder case of the century, and no one was talking about it. The whole thing was fishy to say the least, and nothing was being done. 

Tinsley slammed the last phone book shut in a huff as he failed yet again to locate any record of the name Goldsworth. Not a single person. He had tried looking for the family’s allies and found nothing. He had been to every library in L.A. and found not a single word on any of them. How was that even possible, it was 1947 for Pete’s sake? Tinsley himself had miles of articles published about him, and he was only a private detective who snooped in peoples’ business.

Tinsley gave a pathetic attempt at a wave in the direction of the disgruntled librarian as he pushed his way out the front doors of the building. He began walking to his car, an unlit cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. Stopping to lean against the hood of his car, Tinsley lit up and took a long drag. 

“What a lousy detective I am,” he muttered to himself.

“On the contrary, sir,” a stranger countered. “We just don’t want you to find anything.”

Tinsley stared wide-eyed at the man, he had come seemingly from nowhere. He wore a bespoke suit and stood in a way that made it look to passersby as if the two were old friends, when in fact they were not.  
“If you would kindly follow me, there is someone who would like to meet with you,” the man eluded, turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction of where Tinsley intended to go.

Tinsley checked his surroundings before following, fully aware that following the man was quite possibly the stupidest thing he could have done. He should be getting is his car and driving as far away from this mysterious man as fast as possible, checking behind him at every traffic stop to make sure no one was following him. He shouldn't be following him into an alley. He shouldn't be moving towards the open car door that was offered to him. He shouldn't be sinking into the darkened back seat of a spotless ‘43 Cadillac. 

“Detective Tinsley,” a voice greeted from the seat next to him, the face connected to it shrouded in darkness. “I’ve heard you’re looking for me and my family.”

“Are you a Goldsworth?” Tinsley asked then internally chided himself, of course he was a Goldsworth.

“Yes,” the voice confirmed with what sounded like a coy chuckle. “Ricardo Goldsworth, at your service.”

“C.C. Tinsley, at yours,” he started. “But I suppose you knew that already.”

“Yes,” Goldsworth said again, a grin sneaking into his voice.

“So,” Tinsley prompted after a long awkward silence. “Did your chauffeur lead me here for us to sit in the car or did you want to tell me something? ‘Cause I’ve got work to do.”

“No you don’t,” Goldsworth denounced, the smirk dropping from his voice. “We sent a man to your office while you were searching in vain at the library. You don’t have any other cases at the moment, and you don’t have any information on us. So, detective, you are lying when you say you have other work, and I do not like being lied to.”

Tinsley sat speechless, trying and failing to keep his jaw from dropping. Who did this man think he was? When he had finally thought of something to say, he was interrupted by Goldsworth tapping on the glass of the car window. As way of answering, the chauffeur slid into the driver’s seat and pulled the car out of the alley, all the time Goldsworth’s face was obscured. 

“Where are we going?” Tinsley asked, feeling a bit like a lost child.  
“Mr. Beardsley,” Goldsworth paused to gesture to the chauffeur, “is going to take you back to the hovel you call an office, and then, unlike you, I will be attending to my very real work that needs to be done. Covering up a murder like the Black Dahlia is extremely difficult you see.”

Tinsley was yet again speechless. Goldsworth had just admitted to covering up a major murder case and he was just checking his cufflinks like this was an everyday occurance.

“You’re not serious, are you?” Tinsley demanded, clenching his jaw. “If you are, then there is no way you’d let me walk around with that information in my head.”

“I’m being entirely serious, detective,” Goldsworth confirmed, the smirk creeping back into his voice. “But if you tell anyone about this, why would there be any reason for anyone to believe you? You’re a private eye who smokes too much and drinks so much coffee with whiskey that there should be a cocktail named after you. I mean no offense here - or maybe I do - but you’re a nobody, detective. Just a beat up old tin man who never came back from the war.”

Tinsley wished he could choke the life out of the man he shared the car with. He wished that all of what just spilled from Goldsworth’s smug mouth was false and was just said to provoke him; but it wasn’t, and all he’d be doing would be killing a man in cold blood.  
“You know I’m right, my little Tinman,” Goldsworth stated, falling silent after. For all his faults, Tinsley knew when to shut his mouth, and now was one of those moments. 

As the streets passed and the silent car drew nearer to Tinsley’s office, it occurred to him that it was becoming more and more likely that instead of leaving this car alive, he’d be leaving with a bloody bullet hole in his head. Tinsley’s palms began to sweat, his eyes frantically searching for signs of a gun on Goldsworth or even Mr. Beardsley. Then again, it might not be either of them to pull the trigger, there may likely be someone waiting for him when they arrived.

A thought struck him like a bolt of lightning. Francesca was still at the office. The poor girl had just been hired as a secretary and was probably going to have to either witness her boss being killed or may even be dead herself if someone had indeed been there. 

The car slowed to a stop, heightening Tinsley’s panic. Mr. Beardsley stepped out without turning the car off; not a good sign. The evening sun came at an angle through the front window that it illuminated Goldsworth’s face for the first time throughout their meeting; another bad sign.

“Well,” Tinsley muttered, putting all his courage into staring into Goldsworth’s deadened black eyes. “This is where I leave you.”

“Yes, it is,” Goldsworth replied, bored. “Please make this the last time, I do not wish to see you again.”

Tinsley’s door was opened at that exact moment, almost as if on cue, and he fought to release the sigh of relief that was so desperately trying to escape. He was a grown man, dammit. He had fought the Krauts in Italy and France but couldn’t handle a little car ride? What was he becoming?

He had his hand on the doorknob ready to unlock it, when he heard Goldsworth’s voice one last time from the car behind him. “If we catch you snooping in our business again Tinman, I might just have to kill you.”

Tinsley didn’t answer, but instead slid his key into the lock and hoped the car drove away. Panic had crept back into his chest as he flashed back to the war, remembering what it looked like to see a man get shot in the head. Not a pretty sight to say the least, and he had no desire for that to be his fate.

“Welcome back, sir,” Francesca greeted when Tinsley entered the room. “Did you find anything?”

“No, just another dead end,” he lied, walking past her to his desk to pour himself a cup of coffee and whiskey. He wasn’t going to let this go, he couldn’t. He had just gotten an unprompted confession and a death threat. However frightening it may be, he would have to run the risk of investigating further. 

The days bled into weeks as Tinsley came across more and more dead ends. There had been no word from Ricardo or anyone who was on the Goldsworth payroll. 

Until this morning.

The lights were on at the office when Tinsley arrived, meaning that Francesca was on time for once. The hairs on his neck and arms stood straight. The day Fran was on time was the day the earth changed its rotation. Something was off.

“Fran?” he called when he unlocked the door. “Are you here?”

Drawing the sidearm he bought after the run in with the Goldsworths, he crept around the corner and was met with a sight that no man need ever see.

Francesca was laid out on her desk in two parts, her lifeless eyes clouded with blood. A file was set neatly on her chest displaying the autopsy report of the Black Dahlia. It didn’t take a detective to figure out that Francesca’s wounds would be eerily identical. Above the body however, was the clearest message of all. 

Written on the wall in what was most likely Francesca’s blood were the words: “I warned you, Tinman.”

Tinsley’s arms lay useless at his sides, his gun slipping from his fingers. There was no possible way that this could get any worse, until the cold metallic feeling of a gun barrel lightly touched the back of his head.

“Ricardo?” Tinsley assumed.

“You guessed right, Tinman,” he confirmed. “And what did I tell you about looking into my family?”

“You told me you might just have to kill me,” Tinsley answered, trying to keep his voice level and breathing even.

“Correct again,” Goldsworth shouted.

He dragged the gun down to Tinsley’s neck and circled around to stand in front of him. Blood was splattered across his face and his eyes seemed to be the same macabre color. The smile that stretched his olive toned face was terrifying. 

“I’m feeling quite generous today, so I’m going to allow you to live. On one condition,” Goldsworth sneered. 

The detective took a moment to think before answering. He was good at what he did, so good that he ended up pissing off a crime family so much that they do this. This fact coupled with live or die decision being presented, there was only one possible thing Goldsworth could be talking about.

“You want me to work for you, don’t you?” Tinsley guessed, sweat tickling the back of his neck.

Goldsworth paused to take a satisfied breath, his hand unwavering and let one word slip from his lips: “Yes.”

“No,” Tinsley blurted before even considering what his other option was.

“You’re being coy right?” Goldsworth sighed. “You can’t actually wish to die instead of working for one of the most powerful families in the country. Consider your options here Tinman. On the one hand, you get set up with a house in a neighborhood of your choosing, never want for anything and do what you do best, detect things,” he stopped for a moment to whack Tinsley on the cheekbone with the barrel of his gun, causing Tinsley to fall to his knees. “On the other hand, I kill you and make it look like you mutilated dear Fran then popped yourself. The whole scene would look an awful lot like a full confession to the murder of the Black Dahlia, making dear Dr. Hodel a free man. Your choice.”

Tinsley was silent for a moment, cradling his face as blood seeped out of his wound. He would be set for life. No more needing to worry about rent, or when he would next eat, or waiting on his next case. All he would need to do was join up with an organization with dubious morals who just killed his secretary and only friend. His breathing faltered as he realised what his answer needed to be.

“What would you need me to do for you?” Tinsley questioned, stalling the inevitable. 

“Now you’re thinking!” Goldsworth burst sending a swift kick into Tinsley’s gut, sending the detective fully to the floor. “We would need you to dig up dirt on people when we feel the need to have information. None of them would be nearly as impossible to find as we were. But I must admit, your spunk was admirable and that's why we contacted you.”

“Why don’t you just kill me then? If my ‘spunk’ was so noticeable?” Tinsley coughed out, immediately regretting it.

“I like you, Tinman,” Goldsworth confessed, crouching down and grabbing a handful of Tinsley’s hair resting the barrel of his gun just below his eye. “You entertain me, and you’re good at what you do. So good in fact, you piqued our interests so much that I came to find you.” Goldsworth lightly slapped Tinsley’s cheek with the gun emphasizing the word ‘you’.

This was humiliating, but nothing near the posthumous desecration of his name if he declined this tempting offer. Goldsworth was right again, and Tinsley knew it.

“Alright,” he conceded finally. “I’ll do it.”

“Good,” Goldsworth smiled. “Welcome to the family.”


End file.
